There is a metaphorical black cloud hanging over the place, too. Robert is a portly bus driver with an enormous Zapata moustache. His English is limited, so when he wants to add emphasis he simply repeats himself. 'I am very sad,’ he says. 'I am very, very sad.’

The original chrome radiator and four domed headlamps are still in evidence, and the engine, which still runs well, is a testament to the old man’s mechanical ingenuity.

The name of the bus, Marija, is hand-painted on the outside, as well as slogans such as welcome aboard and eat my dust. The interior smells of petrol, and the seats do not seem to be fixed properly to the floor. 'This bus is my baby,’ Robert says. 'My good friend. My wife.’ He clears his throat, corrects himself. 'My secondary wife.’

Robert and his vehicle are typical in Malta, where the average age of a bus is 35 years, and they are run as independent businesses by their drivers. The vehicles are required to be yellow, but are lovingly customised with hand-made parts.

As we talk, buses rattle by that have been souped up with soft toys, turbo engines, even a cage of budgies. The locals call them the 'xarabank’, a derivation of 'charabanc’. The xarabank rule the highways in Malta as they have done for decades. The buses are always packed, even though they rarely run on time and are often driven at startling speed when they find room on the island’s appallingly congested roads. They are a hit with tourists, and attract a constant stream of bus enthusiasts from around the world.

But their time is up. 'The xarabank are a nightmare to use,’ Emanuel Delia, the chief of staff for the Maltese ministry of transport, explains. 'We can’t choose our transport system based on what is quaint. Otherwise we’d still be using donkey carts.’

For all their charm, the xarabank are so inefficient that 90 per cent of locals prefer to drive than use public transport. Bus travel has declined by 50 per cent since the late 1970s, and Malta is the most car-dense country in Europe (population: 500,000; cars: 300,000). The old buses are also polluting and unreliable, and their drivers are reputed to be rude and lazy. An elderly nun whom I meet at a bus stop alerts me to another disadvantage: they have 'bad steps’ – no disabled access.

This month Marija and about 500 other xarabank are being forcibly retired. Arriva – the German-owned, Sunderland-based multinational – is taking over Malta’s bus network. It is rolling out a fleet of identical shiny new vehicles, turquoise in colour, with diesel engines, air-conditioning and 'real-time passenger information displays’.

The new buses will have low fares, long operating hours, multiple routes and a night service. The xarabank, meanwhile, will be sold or scrapped, while a few will literally become museum pieces.

Robert admits that he doesn’t know what he will do once Marija is scrapped. Others at the bus station are equally unhappy.

'I was born on the buses, and so was my father,’ Francis, 53, says. 'This bus is my best friend. I do not know anything else.’ He shows me some photographs on his mobile phone. There is an old shot of his father behind the wheel in 1946. And there is one of Francis himself as a young boy, working as a conductor with his father.

I ask him how he feels the government has treated him. He dusts his hands theatrically, then grinds his foot into the dirt.

Arriva says it has offered positions to all xarabank drivers, although those I speak to say they will have to take a pay cut. According to Arriva, its wages are reasonable, but it cannot compete with the old state-subsidised system.

A few drivers are philosophical. Mario, a cigarillo-chomping 40-year-old, has signed up with Arriva. 'At the moment I work 15-hour days,’ he says. 'Arriva will give me sick leave, bonuses and paid holidays. Less money, but more benefits.’ How does he feel about losing his beloved bus? He smiles. 'She is an old friend,’ he says. 'But nobody can live for ever.’